are once more under the influence of Mrs. Van Brandt. I will not
trust myself to tell you of the anxieties and forebodings by
which I am oppressed: I will only acknowledge that my one hope
for you is in your speedy reunion with the worthier object of
your constancy and devotion. I still believe, and I am consoled
in believing, that you and your first love will meet again.

"Having written so far, I leave the subject--not to return to it,
except in my own thoughts.

"The necessary preparations for your departure to-morrow are all
made. Nothing remains but to wish you a safe and pleasant journey
home. Do not, I entreat you, think me insensible of what I owe to
you, if I say my farewell words here.

"The little services which you have allowed me to render you have
brightened the closing days of my life. You have left me a
treasury of happy memories which I shall hoard, when you are
gone, with miserly care. Are you willing to add new claims to my
grateful remembrance? I ask it of you, as a last favor--do not
attempt to see me again! Do not expect me to take a personal
leave of you! The saddest of all words is 'Good-by': I have
fortitude enough to write it, and no more. God preserve and
prosper you--farewell!

"One more request. I beg that you will not forget what you
promised me, when I told you my foolish fancy about the green
flag. Wherever you go, let Mary's keepsake go with you. No
written answer is necessary--I would rather not receive it. Look
up, when you leave the house to-morrow, at the center window over
the doorway--that will be answer enough."


To say that these melancholy lines brought the tears into my eyes
is only to acknowledge that I had sympathies which could be
touched. When I had in some degree recovered my composure, the
impulse which urged me to write to Miss Dunross was too strong to
be resisted. I did not trouble her with a long letter; I only
entreated her to reconsider her decision with all the art of
persuasion which I could summon to help me. The answer was
brought back by the servant who waited on Miss Dunross, in four
resolute words: "It can not be." This time the woman spoke out
before she left me. "If you have any regard for my mistress," she
said sternly, "don't make her write to you again." She looked at
me with a last lowering frown, and left the room.

It is needless to say that the faithful servant's words only
increased my anxiety to see Miss Dunross once more before we
parted--perhaps forever. My one last hope of success in attaining
this object lay in approaching her indirectly through the
intercession of her father.

I sent Peter to inquire if I might be permitted to pay my
respects to his master that evening. My messenger returned with
an answer that was a new disappointment to me. Mr. Dunross begged
that I would excuse him, if he deferred the proposed interview
until the next morning. The next morning was the morning of my
departure. Did the message mean that he had no wish to see me
again until the time had come to take leave of him? I inquired of
Peter whether his master was particularly occupied that evening.
He was unable to tell me. "The Master of Books" was not in his
study, as usual. When he sent his message to me, he was sitting
by the sofa in his daughter's room.

Having answered in those terms, the man left me by myself until
the next morning. I do not wish my bitterest enemy a sadder time
in his life than the time I passed during the last night of my
residence under Mr. Dunross's roof.

After walking to and fro in the room until I was weary, I thought
of trying to divert my mind from the sad thoughts that oppressed
it by reading. The one candle which I had lighted failed to
sufficiently illuminate the room. Advancing to the mantel-piece
to light the second candle which stood there, I noticed the
unfinished letter to my mother lying where I had placed it, when
Miss Dunross's servant first presented herself before me. Having
lighted the second candle, I took up the letter to put it away
among my other papers. Doing this (while my thoughts were still
dwelling on Miss Dunross), I mechanically looked at the letter
again--and instantly discovered a change in it.

The written characters traced by the hand of the apparition had
vanished! Below the last lines written by Miss Dunross nothing
met my eyes now but the blank white paper!

My first impulse was to look at my watch.

When the ghostly presence had written in my sketch-book, the
characters had disappeared after an interval of three hours. On
this occasion, as nearly as I could calculate, the writing had
vanished in one hour only.

Reverting to the conversation which I had held with Mrs. Van
Brandt when we met at Saint Anthony's Well, and to the
discoveries which followed at a later period of my life, I can
only repeat that she had again been the subject of a trance or
dream, when the apparition of her showed itself to me for the
second time. As before, she had freely trusted me and freely
appealed to me to help her, in the dreaming state, when her
spirit was free to recognize my spirit. When she had come to


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